


finding out the obvious.

by niamhies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Post canon, implied Hinny, mention of marauders, slight tw on suicide?, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niamhies/pseuds/niamhies
Summary: Harry's trying his best to ignore his concerning mental health issues by overloading himself with work and whilst doing so, he comes across a faded photo of his late godfather, Sirius and his friend, Remus sharing an intimate moment together.
Kudos: 6





	finding out the obvious.

Harry wasn’t quite sure when he was finally going to snap – whether it was as soon as he arrived home from the Ministry or months into the future, he didn’t know. But he knew it would happen, one way or another. And he knew it would be coming sooner rather than later, for only minutes ago Kingsley had called him into his office at the end of the day and told him that Remus Lupin’s grave had been vandalised.

He had wanted Harry to know before the news was inevitably released to the newspapers and their readers by the end of the week. Kingsley and his advisors had suspected Death Eaters, or Riddle sympathisers, who were still in denial over their brutal defeat months prior and were retaliating in the only way they knew how – to destroy life. It was reported by a wizard who claimed to be an eyewitness, who said he had been attacked by the suspect with the Cruciatus Curse when he had called them out on it and tried to stop them, and was now currently residing in St. Mungo’s, hopeful to make a quick recovery.

When Harry had received the news, it took him a full minute to react. He had stared blankly at Kingsley’s half empathetic, half furious face whilst the older man’s lips moved, promising that the culprits would be found and prosecuted. When Kingsley had finished speaking, Harry had nodded and said a curt farewell before heading back to his home, where Kreacher was almost done making tea. 

“Hello, Master Harry,” greeted Kreacher, his voice croaking like it hadn’t been put to use in years.

Harry hadn’t the effort to remind the elf that there was no need to call him ‘Master’ at that time, and he slumped into a chair at the table which resided in the newly renovated Grimmauld Place. It was one of the only things that kept him going these days, the notion that half of the building was still in its darkened state that Harry had left it in before he broke into the Ministry. Transforming Grimmauld Place was what kept his mind and body busy when Kingsley refused to overwork him and insisted he have days off – Kreacher often helped, though did so whilst battling through waterfalls of tears, as did George, who came around every day to assist them. Harry needn’t ask why George was so enthusiastic at the idea, it was the same reason why Harry had began doing it in the first place. To avoid facing reality. 

Kreacher cooked in silence for the next few moments before bringing the hot food over to Harry and bowed deeply.

“Thanks, Kreacher,” said Harry quietly and he rubbed the stubble on his cheeks irritably before picking up his fork. He really needed a shave.

“My pleasure, Master. Will Mr George Weasley be joining us?” asked Kreacher and Harry was mildly surprised at the restraint Kreacher had developed over the passing weeks to not whisper something utterly nasty about any of the Weasley’s – or him, for that matter.

“I don’t think so, no. He’d probably be here by now,” replied Harry, glancing at the clock. 

With one last bow, Kreacher walked out of the room and made his way upstairs, most likely to finish cleaning one of the many vacant and cluttered rooms.

Harry dropped his fork against the plate with a loud ‘clang’ and buried his face in his hands. He felt so old, despite the fact he had recently just turned eighteen. It was anxiety inducing; feeling fifty years old and being trapped in the body of a teenager. 

His mind wandered to his brief encounter with Kingsley only moments ago, horrific images flooding his vision of Remus’ grave, destroyed and crumbling. The disrespect that man had endured during his life was unfathomable, and now, even in his death, he still hadn’t got the respect he deserved.

Sure, he had received the Order of Merlin, First Class along with many other war-heroes’, but that meant next to nothing to Harry. What was the point in rewarding someone with something when they’re no longer alive to have it? It made Harry bitter, really bitter, actually. People who had never appreciated Remus Lupin when he was alive had spent the past months since the end of the war remembering him. There had been articles in The Daily Prophet which detailed his tragic life and how misunderstood he had been because of his condition, when they were the ones who had originally planted the stigma towards werewolves into everyone’s head in the first place. And then they had the audacity to request an interview from him and Andromeda – the whole situation was inappropriately laughable for all the wrong reasons.

He wished Ron and Hermione were here, but they had been sent on a mission to send word to muggle-borns on the run that the war was over and Harry had been on a mission when they left, so he hadn’t been able to join them. He didn’t know how long they’d be gone, but he couldn’t imagine Hermione being overly joyous if she didn’t return before September in time for her to return to Hogwarts so she could complete her final year. Ron wasn’t planning on going back – similar to Harry, he couldn’t bear to – but when Hermione was unhappy, so was he. Harry didn’t even let himself think of Ginny if he could help it – who was without a doubt his best source of comfort – because he didn’t have the faintest clue what the two of them were doing. When they were together, they were inseparable. They took long walks around The Burrow, often in a comfortable silence, or sometimes they went to her room and played Wizard’s Chess – at which Ginny did not live up to her brother’s skill, making Harry able to actually win sometimes – whilst talking about nothing in particular, sharing secretive smiles and guilty laughs. Harry knew his feeling towards her hadn’t wavered since that blissful month of being together and he hoped he wasn’t being too arrogant in believing that hers hadn’t either. But neither of them had acted on their feelings, both much too absorbed in grief to think of allowing themselves to be happy whilst so many of their loved ones were gone from their world.

And thinking of grief, Harry’s thought process reverted back to Remus once again. He would be seeing Teddy tomorrow, having offered to take him from Andromeda so she could be with herself for a while. She wasn’t coping very well – with the death of her daughter and husband in the same year and then having to look after her grandchild, she had found it extremely difficult to care for Teddy by herself. So, when it came to Harry’s attention, he had told her he would take care of Teddy whenever he had a day off and bring him over to The Burrow – it was no secret that all the Weasley’s adored the baby. At first, Andromeda had protested, by eventually gave in. Harry had left her house three hours later after making sure that she wouldn’t end up doing something stupid to herself.

But he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. Harry, of all people, knew what it was like to mourn, and the feelings that become of it. He was quite sure that had he not been overloading himself in work or constantly surrounded by his remaining loved ones who he knew were worried for him, then he perhaps wouldn’t be sitting down here in Grimmauld Place, mulling over hypothetical thoughts. It would be incredibly selfish of him to do such a thing, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause his friends more pain. 

Forcing himself to finish his meal, Harry picked up his fork and began shovelling the food down without really tasting it. Kreacher was a great cook, he’d give him that, but he didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. When he was finished, with a flick of his wand, the plate and cutlery flew into the sink and began cleaning themselves, and Harry decided to head upstairs and make some progress with one of the insect-infested bathroom’s he and George had tried starting on yesterday. 

Though on his route to the bathroom, he paused at the bottom of the landing which led to the topmost of the building. It had been left untouched ever since Harry had been in hiding during his ten months on the run with Ron and Hermione, and when he had returned to Grimmauld Place after the war, he hadn’t been able to muster the courage to revisit his godfather’s room again. 

Harry hesitated, his foot hovering over the bottom step, wondering whether he was prepared yet. He’d have to clean it out one day, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t leave it like that whilst the rest of the house thrived in its newly decorated glory. Sirius hated everything about his childhood home, and Harry doubted his room was any exception. And there was no way Harry would leave Kreacher to sort the room out. He didn’t trust the elf _that_ much.

Sighing, Harry climbed up the stairs, his heart growing heavier with each step. He listened to the creak that was released under his foot as he moved up the landing, understanding exactly why Sirius had despised the place. 

Harry hated the dark so as soon as he suspected he was about to be suffocated in it, he lit up his wand and held it out in front of him. 

He knew where Sirius’ room was, he had been in there once before and had found a letter from his mum addressed to Sirius. Harry still had it somewhere, though he suspected it was surrounded by the items he, Ron and Hermione had stowed away after the battle, and Harry defiantly wasn’t ready to go rifling through all of that.

He opened the door gingerly and it croaked shrilly, its hinges exhausted. Harry took in the room, and was surprised to see it much tidier than he had left it. Surely, the Ministry had raided this room, as well. Kreacher had told them what a mess Yaxley and the others had left the whole house in, and it had taken him a month to make it look decently tidy again. But the thought that Kreacher would’ve cleaned his old Master’s room hadn’t occurred to him. They had despised each other – so much that Kreacher had even played a part in Sirius’ death. Maybe this was his strange way of displaying remorse.

Apart from the cleanliness of the room, however, it was in the same format since last year. His bed still wore the same covers, his shelves and tables still stacked with books and his wall still bared the still posters of bikini-clad women and motorcycles. And when Harry looked over his shoulder, sure enough, the framed photograph of the marauders was still hung on the wall, four grinning faces staring back at him. 

Harry would never tire of seeing their faces. Well, maybe Peter’s. 

As he stared at the happy teenage version of his dad, Harry couldn’t help but comparing him with the ghostly figure he had seen before he had walked to his death. He didn’t look that different, except for a growth spurt and more maturity added to his face. It made Harry happy that James hadn’t been plagued with age as his friends had.

And there was Sirius – who was perhaps the biggest difference of all. The haunted look in his eyes was nowhere to be found as his infectious grin stretched across his face. This version of Sirius resembled the figure he had seen months ago much more – his face fuller and baring little to no lines of stress that were unable to ignore during the short time Harry had known him.

He flickered his eyes to Remus then, with his warm, golden gaze and easy-going smile. His hair was a pleasant tawny colour and full of vibrant curls. He looked very handsome, but not in the strikingly noticeable way Sirius was. It was a warmer, and much less intimidating version of beauty that reminded Harry of when Remus had visited them in Shell Cottage to deliver the news of Teddy’s birth, looking much younger than Harry had ever seen him. 

Harry hesitated when his eyes attempted to show him the last figure. He knew Peter would be there, with smoother skin, an absence of a bald patch, two arms… And when Harry finally allowed himself to glance at him, he regretted the surge of pity that passed through him. The man who had ruined Harry’s family – his life, essentially – who had eventually sacrificed his life because of it. For him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about Peter Pettigrew now that he was gone. He just hoped that somewhere, wherever they were, Sirius had managed to get a punch in. 

He shifted a little on his feet and looked to the ground, to try and calm the tears that were threatening to spill before they fell, and he could no longer control them.  
But as he stared at the faded floorboards, his eyes caught sight of a piece of parchment which was protruding out between two of them. It reminded Harry of when he used to hide his things under two loose floorboards at Privet Drive, so he crouched down and pulled at the floor.

It took a bit of effort to remove them, but he managed within the minute and observed the contents underneath the floor. There was a stack of letters, with their edges faded brown, and another stack of something which was faced down and tied together with a piece of string. There was a book, too, which Harry thought looked like a diary.

Picking up the letters, Harry brought them closer to his face in attempts to read the slightly smudged writing. It didn’t take him long to recognise who’s it was – they were Harry’s letters.

Every letter, whether merely a hastily written sentence or a length two scrolls, that Harry had ever sent to Sirius was there, preserved carefully. They had all been read many times – Harry could tell because of the smudge and fingerprint marks that had appeared on Sirius’ letters to him after Harry himself had carefully analysed multiple times during his summers at the Dursley’s when he had nothing to do but mull over what could’ve been. 

A tear fell onto one of the pages in which Harry had told him about Dudley’s new diet and he moved the letters away from him so he couldn’t do anymore damage to them. He remembered vividly the hour he had written that letter, he had been so eager to know Sirius and had tried to contain his excitement for fear he would jolt awake and find himself back in a cupboard again.

Harry took out the pile of photograph’s and turned them over. His stomach turned over uneasily when the picture displayed a younger him – when he had spent Christmas at Grimmauld Place in his fifth year – and a post-Azkaban Sirius sat opposite one another, pulling either end of a magic Christmas cracker. Harry hadn’t known someone had been taking a picture of them. He looked around at the people surrounding them and reckoned it must’ve been Remus or Tonks – most likely Remus, noticing the lack of shakiness that would’ve been there had Tonks taken it. 

His hands trailed delicately across the picture, and wished more than anything that he could reverse time and relive the few joyful days Harry’s had experienced during his fifth year. Despite it coming top three in one of the worst years of Harry’s life, he would do anything to go back, to spend even a second longer with Sirius. He missed him so much…

He looked through the other photos carefully, not wanting to damage them. He felt like a bull in a china shop and that it he wasn’t careful he’d destroy the only physical proof that these moments had happened, and Sirius hadn’t been completely miserable during the time Harry had known him. He had loved him, or he wouldn’t have kept every single one of his letters during the course of their short time together.

Some of the pictures were older than others; there were ones from Sirius’ time back at Grimmauld Place, capturing his more happier moments. There was even a photo of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins as they crowded around a chess board, egging the pieces on. Harry suspected Sirius had taken that one. And there was a photo of them all during Christmas day, when Tonks had insisted on doing a group picture to send to Mr Weasley. Harry remembered Sirius muttering to Tonks after the photo was taken about making a copy. 

The older ones were just as interesting – and Harry had guessed correctly as to who would be in them. Most were of Sirius, Harry’s father and Remus during their Hogwarts years, though there were a few of Sirius and a very pregnant Lily together, and a lot of just Sirius and Remus. Harry suspected that the ones which were torn at the side used to feature Peter, and that Sirius wouldn’t have wanted to see his face amongst theirs if he could help it. 

And then, as the unseen pile grew thinner, Harry turned over one of the photos and his eyebrows shot up in surprise: pictured in front of him was a young Sirius and Remus – both of whom couldn’t have been old than about seventeen – locked in an embrace and sat on one of the beds of their Hogwarts dormitory, Harry watched in dumbfounded surprise as the photo moved, the two boys grinning at one another, pure looks of adoration on their faces, and then leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a kiss before the camera turned around and James’ face came into view, pretending to gag before it replayed again.

Harry placed the photo on the stack he had already looked at, a guilty feeling spreading in his stomach as he felt like he had been rifling through something extremely private to Sirius for the past hour. These weren’t his things – well, legally they were, but they didn’t belong to him. These were Sirius’ possessions, things that he had hidden so no one but him could see – and Harry had gone and looked through it all.

Glancing over at the face-down photo, Harry couldn’t help his thoughts from racing. He hadn’t known Sirius and Remus had been a thing – hadn’t even suspected it.  
Though, admittedly his mind was much more preoccupied with the fact that the Ministry were in denial of Riddle’s return during that whole year, and most believed him to be a liar. But still, how could he not have noticed?

Harry wondered shamefully if they had reconciled after their reunion – only for Harry to go and get Sirius killed. Or maybe they hadn’t had enough time. Sirius seemed utterly miserable during his last year of life, and Harry was sure Remus had begun developing feelings for Tonks then, so maybe it was too late by then. 

He fought the urge to look at the rest of the photos and tied the string around them again, only keeping the one of him and the others playing Wizard's Chess and the big photo of them all. He thought everyone would like to have a look at those two. He placed the rest carefully in one of the unlocked drawers of Sirius’ desk and put the letters and the diary in there too. He wasn’t insensitive enough to read through someone’s diary – that much he was sure of.

Harry peered around the room again, grimacing a little at the peeling ceiling. He’d have to think of what he was going to do with this room. A small part of him wanted to strip it all down and redo it up, making it healthy enough for someone to sleep in – he thought Sirius might like that, because he was sure the whole lineage of the Black family were turning in their graves right now. But then another part of him wanted to leave the room as Sirius had left it because the posters and the boisterous red and gold hangings reminded Harry so much of his godfather, and that he had once, not that long ago, actually slept in that bed, actually sat at that desk and read the mountains of books he owned. 

And Harry had to face the hard reality that he didn’t have a clue what Sirius would have wanted. In fact, the more that he thought about it, he realised he didn’t really know Sirius at all.


End file.
